


Dogs, Bows, Guns, and Sass

by FireAwayy



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Cussing, Dogs, F/F, F/M, M/M, Military Dogs, Stony - Freeform, always stony, it won't let me go, my boys - Freeform, phlint - Freeform, phlint too, private security firm, working dogs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-22
Updated: 2016-02-06
Packaged: 2018-05-08 09:31:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5492270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FireAwayy/pseuds/FireAwayy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>SHIELD is a private security firm who offers protection to anyone who needs it. They use any resources necessary and are one of the very few teams in the country to use K9's in their services. They are also one of the best in the Nation. </p><p>Phil runs his security firm with complete organization. He likes things to go according to plan. But when Clint Barton walks into the office it all goes to hell in a hand basket. </p><p>Amidst flying paperclips, angry squirrels, flying frisbees, and some serious life saving...people might be falling in love. </p><p>Whether they like it or not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Clint Barton vs the Angry Squirrel

**Author's Note:**

> So, this started because I really wanted to write a fic with service dogs. As I contemplated these amazing dogs I started pairing each character with a breed and type of dog and well…it snowballed and I'm only sort of not sorry it happened. 
> 
> Trigger warnings: At some point there will be discussions of shady pasts and domestic violence, the references will be vague and not detailed but they will be there. 
> 
> Also a lot of dog feels. 
> 
> And as usual lots of cussing. Thats my thing. Dealwithit.  
> Feel free to leave any comments or criticisms :) or just a pat on the back. Just saying.
> 
> You're all beautiful mother fuckers.

Clint Barton was not a smart man. 

Sure, he could shoot the balls off a fly from one hundred yards away, climb any surface, and kick the crap out of just about anything the universe could throw at him. Despite all this he still finds himself in dumb situations. 

Like right now, for instance. He was crouched in the branches of an old live oak with a muscle cramp and leaves stuck down his pants. Of course, it could be worse. The aggressive squirrel had run off twenty minutes ago…Clint only prayed he didn’t bring back any of his rodent buddies.

“Rogers to Barton. All clear?” Clint’s comm buzzed in his ear and he tapped it. 

“All clear.” He responded as he shifted his leg to try to relieve the pressure. 

“How’s the uh…squirrel situation?” Steve asked, his voice light. The bastard was laughing at Clint. 

“Oh you know, we’ve bonded. He’s actually a great guy, I think we’re going to catch a baseball game this weekend.” 

Steve chuckled on the other end of the radio, and Clint could just picture his grinning face. “Good to hear that your diplomatic relationship skills are improving.”

Clint wanted to stick his tongue out at him. He had been working with Steve Rogers at SHIELD private security for the past five years. Steve was the kind of guy that you couldn’t help but like—he was smart, genuine, good at his job and had this vibe that just made you like the guy. Clint and Steve immediately bonded as bros, so much so that they moved in together. They shared a small farmhouse on a couple of acres of land outside of town. Steve loved having the room and Clint loved the privacy. And with their sketchy pasts sometimes it was nice to have someone else, just a presence. 

He shifted again and the branch creaked under his weight and he groaned. “Why am I always the one in the goddamn tree…” he mumbled as he brought the binoculars up and scanned the building in front of him. 

SHIELD Private Security had a fluid mission statement…protect those who need to be protected. It was simple. There was no gray area, something Clint appreciated. Money exchanged hands and protection was given. Nick Fury, the Director, kept a tight knit group of men and women with a myriad of skills for hire. While a small company, SHIELD was one of the foremost private security groups in the nation. Work was plenty and Fury tended to be picky about his clients and protective of his employees. 

Today they were protecting business magnate Tony Stark. While Stark was already an important name in Weapons design, Tony was gearing the company over towards more electronic development and generators. The company was pumping out new tech and designs almost weekly and the world was quite excited about the new resources. Rumors were Tony was crafting a new generator type thingy. Clint ignored the sciency mumbo jumbo, but it seemed like a big deal. 

The whole kerfluffle with Obadiah Stane had left the shareholders of Stark Technologies worried. Tony was the essence of Stark Tech, without him the company would crumble. So they hired SHIELD to follow the billionaire around. It had been an easy assignment so far, just one or two guys to keep an eye on Tony, and things had been quiet. 

Today Tony was at some gala banquet thing. Clint didn’t really know the difference, but everyone was all fancy with their hair up and dresses that sparkled and swept the floor. It was almost straight out of a movie. Tony looked great in his tux, as he should—the damn thing probably cost more than Clint was worth. Inside with Tony were Thor and Steve. Thor and Steve were roughly the size of…giants. They were huge and intimidating but looked fucking good in a suit, so of course they get all the insider jobs. It worked really; most people took one look at the two blondes and turned tail and ran. Or flirted and eye fucked them from across the room. 

And of course Steve and Thor were completely oblivious which made the whole situation hilarious for Clint. 

Clint usually kept his distance. It wasn’t that Clint wasn’t as an effective as a security officer…he was great in hand to hand combat and he never missed a thing that happened in a room. Because of his surveillance skills he was better utilized in the background, where his sniper skills were suited. Clint enjoyed people watching, certain people more than others. 

Watching Steve get hit on was always hilarious, on the rare occasion he understood he was being flirted with he blushed so hard that Clint often thought he looked like a salmon. Thor usually just laughed and enjoyed as people hung off his arms and giggled at his exploits. Despite this Thor was the most loyal person you could get, and was always anxious to get home to his long term girlfriend Jane. Jane was another person smarter than Clint…

The wind kicked up and Clint shrugged into his jacket a bit more. He was wearing the standard SHIELD uniform—black shirt, black cargo pants, boots and a jacket with no insignia. Clint had an array of knives stashed around his body, and his bow on his back. 

Clint had often been asked, “Why a bow?” and it wasn’t like Clint’s aim wasn’t perfect with a gun, it was. Clint’s aim was always perfect. He just preferred the bow—nothing got jammed, it worked whether it was wet or not, it was always silent, and it was his baby. He called her Barbara. 

Through the windows in the spacious mansion he could see the party goers, waltzing around with their champagne in hand and pinkies extended. Tony looked like a sore thumb, with his goatee and purple tinted glasses and the smirk that could be seen for days. Every now and then he would glance toward Steve, who was ghosting behind him with a blank face. Everyone could spot him as a security agent but no one commented on it, which is what being a billionaire gets you. 

Clint cocked his head a bit and lowered his binoculars, he could really see better without them anyway. Was Tony glancing at Steve because he was nervous? 

Clint brought his comm to his lips. “Rogers. Thor. You read me?”

Through the window he saw Steve stiffen. Thor was off to the right, and Clint was unable to see him but a moment later he heard the thick accent and the bristle of beard against the speaker. 

“I am here, Barton.” 

Steve nodded his head and Clint could see that he was hearing but choosing not to answer. 

“The Suit seems to be distressed. How are things inside?” 

Steve stiffened and looked toward Tony and stepped to the side, out of hearing from the crowd that was gathered around. Thor appeared by the window and stepped closer to Tony to watch while Steve had his guard down. 

“Barton, everything seems fine here. What do you see?” 

Clint licked his lips and adjusted his stance, sliding a bit farther from the trunk. Tony looked fine, his smirk was in place, but behind his tinted lenses he kept glancing at Steve’s back. 

“Not sure, Rogers. The Suit seems to be agitated, keeps glancing over at you.” Clint was uncertain. He was certain that Tony was nervous or agitated, but of what he didn’t know. 

“I hear you, I’ll keep a closer eye.” With that Steve turned back towards the crowd and resumed his shadowing of Tony. 

Clint shifted his bow and grabbed the branch above him, pulling himself up and sliding between the branches as he ascended. The tree hardly moved as he silently climbed for a better vantage point. His comm buzzed once more and he paused. 

“Barton.” 

The voice was firm with the kind of authority that you wanted to obey. Familiar to Clint. Comforting.

“Sir?” 

“Report.” 

 

Phillip Coulson adjusted his grip around the comm link in his hand, eyes on the screen in front of him. He had tapped into all the security cameras in and around the mansion and watched the comings and goings from a van parked several blocks away. 

“Sir?” 

Even with that one word he could hear the sass ooze from Barton’s voice. It had been that one since day one, much to Phil’s dissatisfaction. Phil had always run a tight ship; he liked order, a trait that he had shown as a child and one that flourished in the military. 

When the military honorably discharged him he found himself calling on an old friend, Nick Fury, who offered him a job as head of security of his fledgling company. Phil accepted and here he was…in a hot van that smelled of old fast food and wet dog. 

Such a glamorous life he leads. 

But he loved it. Every moment of it. Things ran smoothly until Clint walked into his office. 

Clint Barton was everything Phillip Coulson was not. He was cocky and sure, lived his life in an array of chaos and well quipped sarcasm. His past was shadier than a bad side of town in the middle of the night, and he was unwilling to shed any light on it. Nor were any background checks Phil had done. Fury had simply said, “Hey Cheese, just trust him. He’s good.” And that was that. Clint Barton was hired despite Coulson’s valid misgivings. 

And to make things worse…Fury was right. 

Clint turned out to be an integral part of his team. 

As a sniper he could see things before they happened. Despite the sass he had been a model team member, even if he did flick paperclips at people when he was stuck on desk duty. 

“Report.” He said into the mic. 

He heard an intake of breath. “One moment, I’m changing positions.” 

Coulson gritted his teeth—changing positions without confirming with him was in direct violation of SHIELD protocol. Coulson had previously corrected Barton on it—Barton called it ‘bitching’—but every time Barton had shown good judgment. Coulson may have disagreed with his methods, attitude, and cockiness but he couldn’t argue that Barton was very successful. 

“In position, sir. Everything is smooth going. The Suit seemed…agitated, tense. But Rogers and Thor reported nothing of note and are staying hyper vigilant.” 

“Confirmed. And you Barton?” 

There was a surprised silence on the other end. To be honest, Phil was surprised himself. When had he asked for the personal well being of an employee?   
“Fine, sir. There was an incident with a squirrel but it was resolved peacefully.” 

Coulson found he was smiling. He could honestly picture Clint having a conversation with the squirrel. 

Before Coulson could respond Barton was speaking again. “The Suit is heading out the door, sir. Rogers and Thor are with him along with his Dry Cleaners.” 

Barton had come up with the ridiculous names. The Suit was Tony and his entourage, usually his driver Happy and his assistant Pepper Potts, were called the Dry Cleaners. 

“Now? He is supposed to be in there another hour.” Coulson really hated when things didn’t go to plan. “I haven’t scanned his car yet.” 

“I can get there before them. I’ll scan.” 

“Barton, how do you plan on getting down from the tree and to the parking garage—”

He was cut short by a thump and groan. A moment later he heard Clint breathing while he ran. “On my way sir.” 

“Did you jump out of that tree?” 

“Yes sir.” 

“Why on Earth did you jump…?” 

“Faster, sir.” 

Coulson sighed again. He did that a lot with Barton.

“Damage report.” 

Another pause. “Probably not a lot. Been through worse. Do I get hazard pay?” Despite running, injured, and in a hurry he could still be a sarcastic little shit. 

“Barton, your only hazard is yourself.” 

He heard Clints deep laugh. “I’m at the car sir, will give it a sweep and report back.” 

Phil leaned back in his chair, stretching his legs in the cramped van. He crossed his hands and waited for Barton’s report. 

In a private moment he could admit that Barton was a complete asset to the team and that they would be less of a success rate without him. In an even quieter moment he could admit that he liked the man, and was a bit envious of his care free attitude. 

“Reporting sir. Car scanned, and didn’t blow up. All’s clear, returning to base.” 

And sometimes he wanted to shoot him.


	2. Clint vs The Paper Airplane

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint goes head to head with a paper airplane. 
> 
> Bruce refuses to share a sandwich. 
> 
> Dogs are pretty much everywhere. 
> 
> And Coulson might be kind of weird.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here is the second part!  
> Finally got around to introducing the dogs! To clarify, Hawkeye is a Belgian Malinois while Captain is a German Shepherd. While similar, they are vastly different and amazing breeds. 
> 
> While I'm trying to keep things as realistic and true as possible, I will fudge things for the sake of entertainment. So. Just enjoy the boys playing with dogs. 
> 
> And each other ;)
> 
> As usual, I'd love to hear from you! And comments or questions welcome.
> 
> Stay beautiful motherfuckers.

Clint began shedding his jacket before he’d even opened the front door to SHIELD Security. Clint had a habit of making himself at home. Darcy liked to joke that he was ‘nesting’ like some kind of bird. 

If you went in to the psychology of it you could probably determine that Clint had severe abandonment issues and thus created a home wherever he could and tried to fill it up with himself in a futile attempt to keep it from leaving him. 

Luckily, Clint didn’t do psychology. Or use words like ‘thus’.

SHIELD Security was located on the edge of town in a small white one-story building. It didn’t look anything like you’d picture a state of the art Security facility to look—there was no high tech panels along the walls, or barbed wire fencing to keep people out. It was just an average building with a large garage in the back situated next to an empty field. The parking lot was dotted with few cars, mostly employee vehicles, and the sign was a faded gray that had seen better years. 

Most people walked right past this unassuming building, which was fine. Because the building wasn’t SHIELD Security, it was the men and women inside of the building that protected people. 

As Clint stepped through the door he was immediately pelted by a paper airplane.

“Yes! Three points to Darcy!” 

Darcy, a busty dark haired was strategically sitting behind her desktop staring at Clint with a full smirk swooping her full lips. 

“Bruce!” Darcy snapped turning from her large circular desk to a dark haired man sitting at a formica table behind her. “Bruce, what’s the score?” 

Bruce adjusted his glasses and sat up a little straighter, his eyes clouded over for the briefest of moments as he thought. 

“Barton: 5,678 and Lewis: 5.” 

Darcy pumped her fist. “I’m catching up on ya, Barton!” 

Clint laughed and rubbed his head where the plane had swan dived into his cranium. 

SHIELD was set up like any other office—Darcy sat in front in a welcoming circular desk to greet people and do other Secretary things. Not that she was great at the whole secretary thing, but she brought donuts in on Fridays so it evened itself out. 

Behind her in the ‘bull pen’ six other desks were scattered and a large formica table that usually held some sort of project one of the employees worked on. Today, for instance, Bruce was working on a roast beef sandwich. 

“’Sup?” Clint mumbled as he took a chip off the side of Bruce’s plate as he walked by. The scientist hardly noticed the motion. Clint had the stickiest fingers this side of the Mason Dixon. 

“…I was enjoying my lunch.” He said, giving the taller man a glance from behind his glasses. 

“Speaking of lunch…can I have some? I’m straight off a 12 hour shift and I’m fucking dying.” 

Bruce stiffened and looked straight up at Clint. “You wont like me when I’m hungry.”

“Jaysus, Bruce.” Clint said in some sort of accent. “It’s a sandwich.” But he let the subject drop. 

SHIELD would never be accused of hiring the most bland employees. It actually seemed as if Fury went out of his way to find the craziest bunch of people and stick them in a small room with limited window access. Clint is fairly convinced its some sort of social experiment but the last time he brought that up Coulson threated to do that thing with the bendy straw so he let it drop. For now. 

Clint sauntered into the gear room, which was honestly a glorified supply closet, and began removing his comm and other borrowed gear. The bow was his, and the knives were his. He never left home without them, but he usually stored them in the gear room while he was on desk. 

He felt twenty pounds lighter when he finished and walked over to the desk he shared with Steve and pulled out the top drawer, fishing around until his hand clamped over a tennis ball. It wasn’t usually a big deal to share a desk, the two almost never used it and when they did it wasn’t at the same time. Still, the once they’d had to was less than ideal. Darcy took pictures and stuck them on the cork board in the ‘break room’ which was also honestly just a glorified closet with some chairs and an old poker table. 

Clint made his way into the room and grinned, tossing the ball on the linoleum and catching it again. 

A soft whine came from the corner and Clint felt his heart melt a little. 

Tucked into the corner of the room were three oversized dog crates, two of which had occupants today. Clint knelt beside the first cage and made kissy noises, which set the dog off in a flurry of excitement. 

Hawkeye had found him, regardless of what anyone says. 

Clint had been lost. Lost for years, actually. He roamed and wandered, feeling nothing and doing what he had to with his unique skills to get by. It’s a time Clint doesn’t think about often, except for that one day. 

He had been sitting on a rooftop, as usual. The air was disgustingly cold and every breath felt like he was swallowing an ice cube whole. His fingers had frozen around his bow and he wasn’t sure he could even make the shot. Three hours ago some guy had walked into the bar. This particular guy, Clint didn’t really know his name or care, was wanted dead. Clint didn’t know why the guys who hired him wanted him dead, but they did, and Clint was broke as fuck and couldn’t be picky. 

Besides, what’s one more dead dude?

Clint totally would have shot the guy too, really. Despite the cold and the lateness of the hour. His fingers would have worked and the arrow would have flown true and boom. He’d be eating for a few weeks. 

But he saw the dog at the last second. She was heavily pregnant and limping into the alley beside the bar and just under Clint, a car had probably hit her and no one bothered to help. People were assholes. 

It’s funny, now that Clint thinks about it years later, he never remembered wondering, ‘should I go help that dog?’ he just did. Before a thought registered in his brain he was leaping over the edge of the building and clamoring down the fire escape. 

Clint’s version of clamoring was more of a stealthy glide but same thing. 

By the time Clint got to the dog she was exhausted and had collapsed. Her eyes registered fear as he approached her but she didn’t move. Clint stroked her dark muzzle and softly murmured to her. 

“It’s ok, gal. I’m a little beat up too.” 

Clint hoisted the dog in his arms and began jogging down the street. He’d seen a local veterinarian on his first reconnaissance trip; he just hoped someone was around at two in the morning. If not, he planned to break in and steal some medical supplies for her. Surely he could google what to do. How hard could it be?  
Clint was really fucking glad the Vet decided to cut costs and actually live in his clinic. 

He answered Clint’s frantic knocking when he saw the dog and immediately got to work. 

As it turns out, saving a dogs life is insanely complicated. There were machines and monitors and lots of other terrifying things. Clint also couldn’t pronounce a single drug in the place let alone spell it into the google search bar. 

The dog had lost all but one puppy. 

Clint asked if the dog could be named Mocking Bird and the vet smiled and agreed. Of course the archer had no money and no way of caring for a dog, he couldn’t even take care of himself! He gave the vet all that he had, which was no where near close to the total of the bill but the vet accepted and kept the dogs for two months. Mocking Bird made a complete recovery. As it turns out, she was a Police K9 who had gotten out of her kennel one night and been hit. The veterinarian had come across her microchip and called the precinct, who were eternally grateful to have her back safely. 

The officer who had trained Bird gave the surviving puppy to Clint. 

“You look like you could use a friend.”  
Clint blanched. “I don’t know how to take care of one…” 

The officer laughed and looked down at Bird affectionately. “Son, she’s gonna take care of you.” 

And she did. 

Little Hawkeye was fierce. She was everything Clint was—loyal, wild, unafraid, headstrong, fierce, and a bit of a goofball. She learned to stick with Clint in the craziest of situations, and picked up on anything Clint wanted to teach her. He began looking up working dog moves and tricks, just for fun one day.

Eventually they performed on the street and earned some money that way. After all, Clint was no stranger to performing.

The two were thick as thieves. 

When Hawkeye turned one Clint decided he needed to provide some stability for her. What happened if she got sick? Or just got older and needed care? 

So he found Fury. 

Fury enrolled them in K9 classes immediately, where they met Steve and his German Shepherd Captain. 

Hawkeye, of course, excelled. 

She went on every mission she could, and performed perfectly. When their shift was over they crowded onto Clint’s bed and fought each other for covers. 

Some missions Hawk couldn’t come on, like the one today. And everytime he left her behind he felt a twinge of guilt. Darcy took great care of the dogs while they were away, walking them and playing with the high energy dogs. But it wasn’t the same. 

Clint released the latch on the cage and Hawkeye bounded up into his arms. She proceeded to sniff every inch of him, poking him forcibly with her nose to inspect him. She did this frequently, like a mother hen checking for a ruffled feather. She hopped down and whined a bit at Clints leg. 

“Oh it’s just a bruise, no worries gal.” he bounced the ball again and she scrambled after it, taking out two chairs and thudding into the wall. 

“NO FETCH INSIDE BARTON!” Darcy screeched from the front office and Clint smiled, patting the dog to get her to settle. 

“Hawk, you should have seen the squirrel I dealt with today. Huge.” 

 

“Cl…Barton.” Phil stepped into the room and cleared his throat. “My office?” 

“Sure thing.” 

He followed the older man into a small room that Coulson used for an office. It was windowless so Clint bought him a poster of a Belgian Malinois for the wall, but he wrote “Hawk is SO MUCH PRETTIER” in sharpie along the bottom just so Phil remembered. 

Clint took a seat in one of the proffered chairs and Hawk took the second. 

Phil sighed but didn’t say anything. He was used to service dogs, ones that had rigid training and control. Hawkeye was certainly a different case, but Phil was greatly fond of those big ears and intelligent eyes. 

And she was prettier than the dog in the poster. 

“Are you hurt? If so, I need to fill out a report.”

Clint laughed and leaned back in his chair. “Nah, nah. Just some bruising. The tree wasn’t that tall.” 

Coulson could see the lie, Clint would be limping for days. But, Barton was a grown up and was capable of asking for help if he needed it. Coulson sighed and looked over to the break room. He could see the corkboard from where he sat and the myriad of pictures tacked up to it. His favorite was the one Darcy took of Steve and Clint squishing into the same chair and attempting to type on the same keyboard. Clint was not nearly as big as Steve but was still muscular and broad. Clint had been shouting “No Steve! Everything east of the G is your property! Cross into my land and you’ll be trespassing!” and the whole office was in an uproar. 

Even Coulson couldn’t fight the smile. 

The picture had been snapped right as Clint was hollering something at Steve and Steve was laughing so hard he was falling out of the chair. It was priceless. 

Phil absolutely hadn’t taken a copy home with him. 

Which means he didn’t keep said not-copy in his bedside table. 

And he didn’t look at it periodically. 

Or nightly. 

But even if he did theoretically take a copy of this picture home it was only to show people what kind of shenanigans he works with. It’s a conversation starter at parties and dinners. Nothing more. 

But this was all hypothetical because Phil obviously did not take the picture home. 

“Uh thank you Barton, that’s all. Why don’t you two head home and get some sleep. Close the door on your way out.” 

Clint tossed him a salute and the two companions stepped out of his office. 

Coulson dropped his head to his desk. With the door closed he could let the straight laced Coulson façade drop. 

Phil might be a little fucking weird. 

Not in a like “lets have wild sex and then sacrifice each other to the goddess” type weird, but in a I want to have sex with this cute guy from work kind of weird. The type of weird that lets Phil totally lie to himself until the door is closed and then he can only think about Clint tossing a ball to Hawkeye and how amazing it would be to wake up and see the two wrestling on the floor, or the three of them sharing breakfast on a front porch somewhere. 

These thoughts and inclinations did not follow the Phillip Coulson nuclear lifestyle. 

Not that being gay was weird, Phil never felt strange about that. It’s almost as if he just woke up one day and realized he was gay and that was that. He liked men. It wasn’t something he advertised on his forehead but he never denied it either, and until now it was never a problem. 

Phil had dated guys like him, guys that had plans and lived normal, if not a little dull, lives. They had underwear labeled for the days of the week (just like him) and ties that matched their socks and everything in its place. 

Of course, none of those relationships had ever really panned out. 

It was strange that Phil could be attracted to someone so…different than him. And he didn’t even know if Clint was gay. So all of this theorizing and painful soul searching was for nothing because Clint probably only saw him as the boring boss that told him to be less reckless. 

But Phil only wanted Clint to be more careful, is that so wrong? And that was not because he wanted to keep Clint from ever being hurt or anything sentimental. It was his job to protect the assets! Keep them working. So if Phil had to keep a closer eye on Clint than the rest of the employees well, then, he was just really fucking good at his job. 

Phil lifted his head and began working on his reports, his face a mask of indifference and the insane loop di loops his thoughts were doing were silenced by the monotony of filling out endless paperwork. 

Phil totally stole a copy of that photo.


	3. Clint vs the Purple Mobile

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint does some thinking and makes a decision or two.   
> Hawkeye thinks riding in the truck is fun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick chapter to get everyone through the holidays, and so you don't forget me! I'm a needy little bastard.   
> Clint and Phil are finally getting the memo.   
> Hawkeye is just being amazing. 
> 
> Next Chapter is going to have some action, with guns and shit. Also some Stony will start happening because no matter how hard I try it just keeps with the feels. And some more actual romance now that the scenes have started to build. Slowbuild on this one, I'm sorry.   
> No I'm not. 
> 
> Stay beautiful motherfuckers and Happy Holidays :)

Clint was a simple man. He loved the little things in life: his dog, his truck, his friends and his work. Clint was probably a walking talking country song but it worked for him. 

He glanced over at Hawkeye, happily hanging her head out the passenger side window as he drove home and he smiled a bit. 

Not a smirk, but an honest to goodness smile. 

Clint bought the truck as soon as he’d landed the job with SHIELD. It was a 1993 Chevy Silverado that had faded from its original color to a bleached out purple. Steve had often said he should repaint the vehicle but Clint liked it. Just because something was a little faded didn’t mean you had to cover it up. 

At the time Clint couldn’t strictly afford the vehicle, but he needed transportation. Hawkeye and Clint had lived in the truck for the first month or two—they’d slept in much worse. On warm nights they’d park in a field somewhere and sprawl out in the bed, watching the stars. Well, Clint watched the stars and Hawkeye alternated between snoring and chasing whatever furry creature had the audacity to walk past the truck. Despite the whole homeless thing, Clint looked back on that time fondly. 

Of course, being broke and living in your truck with an overprotective dog wasn’t the best for forming romantic relationships. Not that Clint really tried. It wasn’t that Clint wasn’t longing for someone, he was. As a teenager he was hot headed and thought that the world owed him something—he would find a new partner to crash with every night. Clint wasn’t picky, not really. He liked who he liked regardless of gender. He was fluid and labels just seem to bog everyone down. If Clint wanted somebody, he didn’t question it. 

Until now. 

The first time Clint met Coulson he was interested. How could someone radiate such cool danger under a suit? Coulson was proficient at his job, smart, funny in a dry kind of way, and handsome as hell. Clint will admit that Coulson—Phil—wasn’t his usual type. 

And maybe that’s why he was so attracted to him. 

By attracted Clint meant romantically, not just physically. Clint wanted so much more than just a few hours in a bed. To be honest, that was a first for Clint. It was like suddenly, after over 20 years his emotions woke up and went, ‘Yup, that one. Right there.’ 

Hawkeye liked him too, which was of course, an important factor. Phil pretended that he was oblivious to the dogs that worked for SHIELD, treating them like another asset—a computer that had a function but not something you gained an emotional attachment to. 

But Hawkeye was totally his favorite. Often Clint caught Phil scratching her ears or sneaking her treats. If Clint allowed himself to be unbiased about Hawkeye for a moment—which never happened—he could see that she was the most personable. Captain was a great dog, but he rarely allowed himself to be goofy and play…it was like he was always switched to the ‘on’ position and ready for a command from Steve. There was definite affection between the dog and man, Captain would do anything for Steve and vice versa but the two’s relationship was more formal than Clint and Hawkeyes.

The only other dog among their ranks was Falcon, a gorgeous Doberman that worked with Sam. Sam Wilson and Natasha usually worked the opposite shifts to Clint and Steve, but Clint found he enjoyed spending time with them. Falcon was almost as rambunctious as Hawkeye and the two often harassed each other and played ball on their breaks while Captain found a sunny patch to supervise. 

Clint pulled off onto a smaller dirt road and the truck glided smoothly over the holes and rocks. Steve and Sam were good with cars and they’d helped the vehicle illiterate Clint get the Purple Mobile up and running smoothly. It was the first time in his life that Clint had friends…friends that stayed with you when shit hit the fan. 

Steve had put up and automatic gate the first week they arrived, a plain steel thing that wouldn’t really stop an ambitious intruder but honestly, who breaks into a home with two trained attack dogs and their handlers who were both over 6 foot tall and capable in hand to hand combat and weaponry. 

Clint keyed in the code and drove in as the gate smoothly opened. Steve wasn’t home yet, probably still debriefing with Coulson and switching shifts with Sam and Natasha or with Starks home crew. 

He put the truck in park and stepped outside, looking back at Hawkeye. She bounded over the bench seat and stopped just on the edge, her entire body wiggling with excitement. She knew she couldn’t get out of the truck with out a specific command and Clint smiled. 

“Yes.”   
She flew from the truck in an amazing combination of chaotic limbs and athletic grace. Hawkeye landed and snapped her jaws in excitement at Clint before taking off towards the house. As she usually did, she began sniffing and scanning the air around the house. 

“Any bad guys?” he asked her with a gentle laugh, letting himself into the house with her closely following. 

The house was small, but nicer than anything Clint had ever lived in-two bedrooms, two bathrooms and a kitchen and living room combo with a wrap around porch that was a dream on beautiful days. Steve had said the hard wood floors were all original and Clint enjoyed the roughed aged look of the old floors. 

Steve and Clint were both absurdly proud of the old house, they kept it clean and in good repair. They’d both gotten a lot of joy from picking out colors and painting each of the rooms and decorating their bedrooms. Hawkeye and Captain loved the fenced in two acres—they had ample room to run and play. 

And of course, train. 

The small shed out in the back yard—which Steve, Sam, and Clint had assembled with no help from Natasha—was filled with the paraphernalia for training the dogs and was an enjoyable activity for dogs and handlers. 

Clint kicked off his shoes and hung up the old worn jacket at the front door and meandered to the kitchen. He didn’t need to turn on any lights, he could see perfectly…something that irritated and perplexed Steve on numerous occasions much to Hawkeye’s delight. 

Hawkeye claimed her spot on the couch while Clint popped the top off a beer and reclined. He flipped the TV on but ignored what was playing and focused on the cold drink in his hand. Hawkeye flopped her head into his lap and her soft chocolate eyes began to relax. 

Clint looked down at her. “She’ll take care of you.” He mumbled as the dog fell asleep. “Guess he was right, huh?” 

He took another swig of his beer and sighed. “You know, I never would have thought that I would ever need anyone besides myself but then you came along and suddenly I couldn’t remember how I ever functioned alone.”

Clint glanced over to the shelf hanging over the TV. On it were several framed pictures—the one of Clint and Steve sharing a desk, all three dogs lounging in the grass together, and one of the SHIELD holiday party. The group was all posed around Darcy’s desk with a plethora of terrible sweaters. Clint had his arm swung around Phil and Phil had reciprocated with the santa hat on his head knocked askew and Hawkeye wearing reindeer ears with her tongue lolling out. It was the kind of picture Clint never really thought he’d be in, and the kind of picture that made him realize just how much he was missing by being alone. 

An ache formed in his heart. Phil had been a little tipsy that day and let his guard down, he was smiling and opening up in a way Clint had never seen before. He’d even called him ‘Clint’ rather than ‘Barton’. 

Clint knew it was probably against regulations, Clint never bothered to read any of them, but what if they ignored that? Would it be so wrong for them to enter into a relationship? How could happiness be against the rules? 

He stroked Hawkeyes neck and felt the beer relaxing his muscles. Clint might be able to scale buildings and fight off attackers but…asking his crush out was an entirely different beast.


	4. Clint and Hawkeye vs. a Bullet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint and Hawkeye finally have a mission together.   
> It doesn't end well. 
> 
> And Phil Coulson breaks protocol...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally! Violence.   
> Hawkeye is such a badass. Seriously. I'm in love…and probably a lot because she's based off my own Malinois (who is adorable and the best). 
> 
> Due to my own experience with the breed, Hawkeye's actions are very accurate. Malinois are extremely loyal to one person, and will physically harm themselves to be with them. I have a lot of experience with this…I can't even go to the bathroom alone. 
> 
> Anyway! I hope you enjoy the latest installment, more are coming I promise. 
> 
> As always, comment!! I love hearing from you. 
> 
> Stay beautiful you motherfuckers

Tony Stark was standing on a wooden stage talking about something…science-y. At least Clint assumed it was related to science, in actuality he had no idea what was being said. Judging by the way everyone in attendance was leaning forward in rapt attention it was a big fucking deal. All that mattered to Clint was that he didn’t have to wear a Tux, and that he could have Hawkeye with him. She was sitting by his feet, lazily watching the crowd and enjoying the fall afternoon sun.

Clint was stationed at the back of the crowd, turned so he could see the stage, the crowd, and everything behind it. Steve was on stage with Stark, hovering over him like a blonde behemoth of attractiveness. Captain was sitting at his feet, his eyes watchful and his back stiff. He looked like the definition of a military working dog. 

Meanwhile Hawkeye was eyeing the hotdog vendor with her tongue lolling out. 

Everyone has their own methods. 

Despite Hawkeye’s apparent casualness she was watching, and waiting. The slightest command from Clint and she would be off like a rocket.   
It was a nice day, and it would be easy to let your guard down on a day like today. But that’s precisely why Clint was tense. Something was…off. He couldn’t explain or quantify it, but his hackles were raised. Hawkeye could sense the anxiety in him and she was restless. Usually the leash lay coiled by Clint’s feet but it was taut, and she shifted back and forth in her ‘sit’ position. 

“Barton.” 

“Here, sir.” 

“What’s the matter? You seem tense and Hawk is fidgety.” 

Phil’s voice had a hint of concern and a lot of authority. To the average person Clint would have looked like an average guy standing in all black with a comm in his ear, but Phil knew the men and women on his team. 

“…nothing definite. Just feels off.” 

If anyone of his team members, besides Clint, had said that Phil would have dismissed it—maybe a bad breakfast burrito. But there’s a reason Clint was such a successful sniper and recon man. 

 

Phil was stationed in their usual surveillance van parked at the back of the parking lot. He had his monitors in front of him and vital signs on each member of his team. Steve was stationed just behind Tony, with Captain at his side. Thor was off to the right of the stage and Sam and Natasha were milling around the crowd. Because this presentation of Stark’s was such a big deal—it was so big they had to do it in the universities football field—they required all hands on deck. Sam had some issues with Falcon being a tad claustrophobic in the crowd but the Doberman had settled and was on the prowl. Falcon was dual trained in Drug and Bomb sniffing and he was using his skills well. 

Steve was alert, as usual. His face a serene mask—but Steve always looked that way. He could be in the middle of a fight and his face was still picture perfect. 

But Clint had a resting bitch face to rival all others. 

That’s how Phil always knew Clint was calm, but now his eyebrows were pinched together and his muscles tense. Even Hawkeye’s expression seemed to have faded from happy to edgy. 

Somehow Barton reached back and removed his bow from his back without causing undue attention to himself, the bow slipping from his back languidly and snapping out. He loaded and arrow and held the bow down by his hips. Hawkeye stood, eyes the same direction as Barton’s and their bodies seemingly as one. Clint crouched and seemed to be looking in the direction of the parking lot 

“Rogers, Thor, Romanoff, Wilson be alert. Barton has spotted a potential threat. He is weapons out.” 

Like a ripple his team all adjusted, they didn’t need to speak but he could see. Natasha pulled out her dual sidearms, Steve stepped closer to Stark and Captain stood beside him, ready. Always ready. 

“Barton. Report.” Phil was a little worried. Stark kept talking, the crowd not realizing the apparent danger that was about to roll into them. 

“Sir there’s a car illegally parked and it wasn’t there five minutes ago. Windows are blacked out and there is no plate.” 

Phil pulled up the car on his monitor and zoomed in, he couldn’t see into the car but it definitely did not belong there. 

Clint began edging towards the car, Hawkeye by his side. Her hackles were up and her head was lowered. She was ready. 

Phil heard Barton’s shout before he saw anything. Two men, dressed in black with ski masks had grabbed him and his bow. They attempted to pull him down but Barton was faster, his leg shot out and into the knee of the closest assailant. Hawkeye was on the second one, the one with his hands on Clint’s bow. She had a mouthful of thigh and with a whole body shake the man was dragged to the ground where she proceeded to give a whole new meaning to ‘tear you a new one’.   
Barton bashed the second assailant with his freed bow, kicking him in the neck to subdue him. He glanced back to the car and brought his bow up, as he stretched his arm back the gasping assailant on the ground grabbed for his ankle and yanked him off course, sending the arrow six inches too wide. With a grunt he sent his bow into the assailants head a second time and knocked him unconscious. 

Barton glanced back at the car at the exact moment a flash of gun fire erupted. 

A single bullet tore through Barton’s abdomen. He grunted and doubled over, blood seeping across his lap. Weakly he lifted his bow and sent off an arrow, it tore through the windows. 

Hawkeye was only a moment behind the arrow. She raced across the packed earth, with ears flat and muscles bunching. With little effort she leapt and punched off the roof of the car, teeth bared as she tore into the gunmans neck. She spun around and took him with her, blood spurting across her face as her teeth sank deeper. The gunman was dead before he hit the ground but Hawkeye gave his neck a few perfunctory jerks before releasing him and circling the car. Her ears were still back and teeth bared as she made sure no one left the car. 

It only took a moment for all of this to occur and Phil realized he had been shouting the entire time. 

During the process, when Phil couldn’t take his eyes off Barton and Hawkeye, Steve had shoved Stark back behind him to Thor who pulled him off the stage and into the waiting car. Steve took off towards Barton while Natasha and Sam each handcuffed the assailants already on the ground. Captain slunk behind Steve in his Shepherd loping gait, his head low and tail lowered in readiness. 

Steve was shouting but the rushing in Phil’s ears kept him from hearing it. Steve dropped to his knees and covered the wound in Clint’s abdomen. Phil yanked off his headset and pulled out his cell phone, dialing 911 as he burst from the van and took off. 

Regulation dictated that he stay in the van, ensure Stark’s safety and coordinate cover up and medical scene. 

But his racing heart told him to get to Clint’s side, something inside him screamed that he needed to be there. 

Phil dropped down to the ground, noting instantly how pale Clint looked and how much blood was pooling around him. He heard the sirens of the medics pulling up but he ignored it, he found Clint’s hand and held it tightly. 

“Clint?” his voice was quiet, but he knew it cut through the chaos. Beside him Steve was trying to control Hawkeye. The dog was inconsolable; thrashing in the muscular mans arms. She was whining and screaming and her eyes radiated pain. The only thing she cared about was Clint, and he was hurt. She wanted to do something, anything. But attacking medics and anyone else in the area was not going to help her dying owner. 

Dying. 

Clint was dying right before Phil. The surge of emotion that overcame Phil at that moment was staggering. His chest ached like it was in a vice and there was a lump in his throat. He couldn’t answer any of the medics questions but luckily Clint was wearing a set of dog tags that identified pertinent medical information. Besides that, their main concern was the gaping hole in Barton’s abdomen. As if in a fog Phil heard things like ‘occlusive dressing’ and ‘blood pressure is low’ and then something about ‘hypovolemic shock’ but Phil couldn’t register those words right now. He knew what they meant.

Clint was dying. 

 

Steve managed to wrangle Hawkeye into the van, slipping a muzzle onto the hysterical dog. Steve felt bad about doing it, he knew why she was upset and he also knew Captain would be the same in her place. But still, this was the safest way to handle her. 

Steve slipped into the drivers seat, Phil in the passengers and both dogs safely crated in the back. Haweye was throwing herself against the walls of her crate while Cap simply was uneasy and vibrating with anxious energy. 

Natasha, Sam, and Thor had accompanied Stark back to his mansion. They would get him secure and give custody to his at home security team before beginning to investigate and cooperate with the police. Phil and Steve were currently following the ambulance to the hospital. Phil was pale and Steve felt like he should say something. 

“Coulson, sir, it’s not your fault. Barton was out numbered and we had no idea…sir, it’s not your fault.” It was lame. If Barton was here he would know what to say, he’d have said it with a sarcastic lilt and a smirk. But Steve was lame and had no idea what to say to their leader. 

Steve licked his lips and wondered if they shouldn’t sedate Hawkeye, as her barking seemed to be increasing in intensity. Looking down Steve could see he was covered in blood, Phil was too. Walking into the hospital might cause a commotion but the look on Phil’s face said there would be no discussion. 

Steve wasn’t complaining. Clint was his best friend, team mate, room mate, and certainly didn’t deserve to be shot in the gut by a nameless group. 

Natasha would certainly get any information out of the survivors. If there were any…Hawkeye killed at least one. Clint probably seriously damaged one. Steve was burning with curiosity but had to compartmentalize. 

First, Clint was dying.


	5. Phil vs. Feelings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phil sits by Clint's bedside as he recovers and contemplates why the man below him means so much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So lots of angst feels in this chapters. I would say I'm sorry but we both know I'm not. Also I'm really into describing Clint…also not sorry. 
> 
> I actually did a lot of research into dog anxiety meds. Weird things you google at 2 AM… 
> 
> Clint's beautiful snark will be back next chapter. 
> 
> Also, there will probably be a spin off in this universe coming soon. A Steve/Tony ship. If that's something you'd be interested in then stay tuned :) 
> 
> As always, comments are loved!! I read each and every one and sometimes I show random people just to prove my worthiness. I have a delicate ego. 
> 
> Stay beautiful mother fuckers.

Hospitals smell. 

Not in a bad way, not in the way where you cringe and turn but in the way that the smell wiggled in your brain and set off alarm bells. It didn’t matter if you were there for a simple procedure or to have your life saved—the smell sets your adrenaline pumping. Because under the antiseptic sterile smell is the smell of fear, of death, of the looming mortality every human faces whether they want to or not. These smells can’t be quantified, explained, or put into words. But every single person who walks into the hospital subconsciously recoils as they smell it. 

Phil was used to it. He had spent more time in a hospital than any one man should. Between his life in the military and just age he’d been bedside more than once. 

It had never felt so important. 

Clint was pale, that was the biggest thing for Phil. His normally olive complexion, sprinkled with freckles and rosy lips were almost white as the hospital sheet beneath him. His hair was smushed back against his scalp. Clint’s calloused hands were resting atop the sheet and they looked so large and ungainly as they rested beside him. Normally when Clint’s hands were gliding across his bow they looked like miniature ballerinas. The archers face was still, the crinkly lines around his eyes flattened. Usually his eyes glittered in mirth and his lips were quirked up in a smirk. 

Phil would have given anything to see those mirthful green eyes again. 

The doctors said he was lucky, that the bullet missed most of the major organs and only lacerated the liver. He could have bled out, quickly. But he didn’t, and here he was. 

The guilt seeped through every pore in Phil’s body. He should have prevented this—it was his job to keep his team members safe and he failed. Clint was lying on this hospital bed because Phil fucked up in the simplest of things. 

Despite rumors of perfection Phil had screwed up before. A lot, actually and people had gotten hurt because of it. But this time was different; this was an ache in his heart and a searing pain in his gut. 

Why was Clint so different? Why did it all matter so much? Deep down Phil knew the answer but he didn’t want to shed any light on it. Shedding light on it would make it real and Phil didn’t want that. Not yet. It’s not that he couldn’t admit it to himself, he could, it was admitting it to the outside world. Admitting that Clint Barton was the one chink in Phillip Coulsons carefully cultivated armor. He had no idea when that chink developed—was it between the endless banter on the comms, the late night donut parties, or watching Clint and Hawkeye play during the rare moments of down time. It was all of these things. The way Hawkeye would leap into Clint’s arms without abandon, how Clint would fall over into the grass with his green eyes sparkling with laughter. He would beg Phil to join them, to take that tie off and throw the ball for Hawk. 

“You love baseball, I’m sure you’ve got a mean arm.” 

The words echoed around in his head. Why didn’t he play? He was so worried about looks and keeping his dignity that he didn’t take the time to play with a man and his dog. 

A man he was very possibly in love with. 

Steve pushed his way into the hospital and rubbed his eyes. It had been a long day. Once Clint was rushed into surgery Phil had told him to go home, get the dogs settled and cleaned up. Steve was reluctant to leave but he was also a realist—sitting around worrying couldn’t help Clint, and he would be angry if he didn’t take care of Hawk and Cap. 

So he left, stopping by the Veterinary clinic to get something for Hawkeye. She was still visibly upset and anxious and the vet, the same one who had delivered her and saved her mother, only needed to take one look at the dog before handing the meds over to Steve. He was worried for Clint’s health and Hawkeye’s mindset, he squeezed Steve’s shoulder and offered to keep the dogs while Steve dealt with the hospital but Steve felt Hawkeye would feel better in her home environment. 

By the time they arrived at their little house Hawkeye had calmed, her eyes were liquid chocolate again and she was lying down in her crate. Steve let the two dogs out to stretch their legs and fed them before taking a shower. It took a while to get the dried blood off but he had practice. He missed hearing Clint bumbling around the house. Despite being so stealthy on missions Clint could be quite loud in the house. He was always banging pots and talking to the dogs, mocking the TV.   
He dressed in civvies and grabbed his wallet and keys. Hawkeye was curled on her bed in the corner of the living room, her eyes finally closed. Cap was lying beside her, watching over the younger dog. 

“You got things here, Cap?” 

The dog cocked his head and slowly blinked at Steve. 

Steve chuckled. “Why did I even ask?” 

Now Steve was in the hospital again. He found Clint’s room with ease and saw Phil slumped down in his chair with a cup of cold coffee. He looked asleep.   
Steve looked over at his best friend and grimaced. He looked bad. Steve had seen Clint look worse though. 

Phil looked horrific. He seemed to have aged years and it didn’t take a genius to know why. Steve might be old fashioned but it was obvious that Phil cared more about Clint than anyone else on the team. Which was fine by Steve, but he imagined life would be a lot easier for the two men if they just admitted it. 

He didn’t bother waking Phil. Phil would refuse to leave anyway and at least now he was resting. He’d loosened his tie, which was the most relaxed Steve had ever seen him. 

Steve found a chair of his own and got comfortable for a long night. He would only leave Clint’s side in emergencies. Natasha said she would swing by and care for the dogs if he needed her to. The dogs were pretty particular about who cared for them, they trusted everyone on the team and a few select others—like their vet. But they would be happy to see Nat. Sam said he would come by in the morning, but they were still working with the police. They’d get the full report in the morning.

Clint had an army behind him. A very small army but still. It was something.


	6. Clint vs. Morphine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint finds out why he was shot and just how much he's crushing on a certain Phillip Coulson.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You'd thought I'd left, didn't you??!
> 
> Well as it turns out school is really difficult. Who would have thought, huh? I have not abandoned you, my beloved readers. Posts will be happening as this story continues. And a possible Stony spinoff in the not too distant future because I honestly have no self control. 
> 
> As always comment and let me know what you think! I personally read each comment and then tell everyone I know about it because I have a delicate self esteem. 
> 
> Stay beautiful mother fuckers. 
> 
> PS if someone wants to write a fic about Phil as a general in the Roman army and Clint a soldier with him I may name my first child after you.

Clint was good at being silent. It was a habit he had cultivated from years of living in foster homes. When you lived in a house where you weren’t wanted it was best to stay out of the way, not be seen or heard. The habit turned into skill and into a way to earn money. 

He didn’t like to tell people his past. Even Steve had a very limited general knowledge of what Clint’s childhood was like, and that was enough for Steve. Steve was the kind of person who was fine to let you open up on your own. It was why Clint naturally radiated to Steve—Steve was like a thousand year old oak tree, immoveable and constant. While Clint was like the wind—always moving and sometimes so loud it’ll knock you over and at other times barely a whisper. 

But Phil. 

Phil was…Clint couldn’t describe Phil. He wasn’t like anyone he’d ever met before: strong of course, but not just in body but in mind. Nothing could break Phil, you could torture him for hours and his mind would stay resilient and strong. And yet, it would open and let you in without a moments hesitation and bring you into its protective warmth. 

Phil’s soft grey eyes were the things keeping Clint connected to this realm. While his blood pooled on the pavement and Hawkeye shrieked somewhere in the distance all Clint could see were those eyes and the soft laughing crinkles that framed them. Clint could get lost in those eyes. Clint wanted to get lost in those eyes. 

That was new. 

Clint had never loved anyone before, not romantically. He loved Hawkeye, Steve, and his other teammates. He would die for them, kill for them but Phil was different. He wanted to wrap Phil up in his scarred arms and hold him until everything was better…even though logically he knew Phil could protect himself just fine.

That same man was now slumped over in a crappy hospital chair, his legs splayed out and tie askew. Those limitless eyes of his were closed as he slept, his chest rising and falling in his wrinkled suit. Someone had draped a thin hospital blanket over him and he looked as if he was sleeping well. 

Steve was on the other side, his elbows resting on his knees and his face in his hands. His blonde hair was mussed—just like when he showered and rushed out the house without styling it. 

Clint shifted. He wasn’t ready to let them know he was awake yet. He liked being quiet, and in the quiet he could think and watch. 

Clint was always watching. 

His whole body felt like it was thrumming. His muscles were heavy and comfortable on the hospital bed. He could tell by the tingling in his lips that Morphine was racing through his veins. There was a little clicky thing by his hand that would deliver more meds but he ignored it. He didn’t like the mind altering drugs and he was pretty sure he could handle the pain reasonably well. 

Clint hadn’t looked at his injuries yet, he didn’t need to see yet another hole in his body that would scar. He wasn’t ashamed of his scars but he did know that most people wouldn’t find them attractive.

Would Phil?

Clint startled himself at that thought but decided now was the time to let it marinate. It was safe to say that he was attracted to Phil intellectually and physically. He’d often pictured some fun scenarios and his body heartily agreed that was something they should be doing. Now. 

Well, maybe not right now. 

Despite heavily drugged, having lost a significant amount of blood, and his body having a hole where it shouldn’t Clint Jr was definitely up for it. Clint smiled at that. 

Now that he openly acknowledged that he wanted to be with Phil, well…openly in his mind anyway, he had to figure out how to approach the issue. Not only was Phil probably not interested in a scarred guy with a shady past and an unnatural attachment to his dog, but he was his boss. That made things sticky.

And not the good kind. 

Besides his personal problems SHIELD had to figure out who the hell shot Clint? And were the aiming for Clint or Stark? 

If they were aiming for Clint, well then, it’s personal. Clint would heal up and take care of it the way he used to.

Quiet back alleys and a single arrow.

But if this was about Stark then it gets complicated. They’ll probable have to involve the Police. Things get messy when you start involving people outside of SHIELD. At least for Clint. 

But Clint has always preferred things the back alley way.

Clint had enough watching, he was ready to awaken and greet all his fans. He gently coughed and pushed himself up a bit, so he was sitting more. Steve’s head snapped up and he blinked those bright blue eyes owlishly. 

“Clint?” 

Clint grimaced. “I look that bad, huh? Can’t even recognize me.”

Steve chuckled and laid his hand on Clints knee. “I’d recognize that grin anywhere, bud.” 

Phil started awake at Steve’s deep laugh. His shoulders jerked and he blinked briefly. 

“How are you, Clint?” 

Clint pointed to the IV line stuck in his right forearm. “I’ve been better. But it’s just a small hole, I’ll live.” 

Phil fought a smile. Clint was taking a moment to revel in the fact that Phil had called him Clint instead of Barton, his voice had softened when he said it and his eyes were a warm blue as he took in the color in Clint’s cheeks. 

Phil pursed his lips and fought a smile. 

“Where’s my welcoming party? Don’t I at least get a “Glad you’re not dead” card?” 

Steve rolled his eyes but his smile was warm. “Nat and Sam were getting Mr. Stark squared away and then joining Thor and Darcy on doing some research on who shot you. The dogs are at home, I had to get some meds for Hawkeye…she’s a bit of a wreck. But Cap’s babysitting her now.” 

Phil’s phone began buzzing and he glanced down at it. “Speaking of the gang…they’re here and on their way up.” 

A few minutes later the tiny hospital room was crowded with deadly people. Steve had given his chair to Natasha, Thor was crowded by the small window, Darcy was perched on the edge of the bed, and Phil was standing by Clint’s head with his suit miraculously well pressed again and all the sleep rubbed from his eyes. He looked as if he’d just stepped out of his house and not slept on a hospital chair all night. 

“So, I talked to my guys at the police department--”

Natasha raised a terrifying eyebrow. “Your guys?” 

Thor laughed, his chest vibrating with the effort. The sun caught his blonde hair and his muscular arms clenched across his chest. Four different nurses had popped in to get Clint’s totally normal vitals already, and they never once glanced at Clint’s monitors. Between Steve and Thor, Clint’s room was rapidly becoming the most visited in the hospital. 

“Yes, they like me there.” Darcy grinned wolfishly and pushed out her ample chest. 

Natasha’s green eyes flicked to Darcy and Clint shuddered. 

“Calm down, love. No one ever touches what’s yours.” Darcy cooed and the contrast between the two might have been funny if Natasha didn’t have murder in her eyes. But Clint supposed that’s why they worked so well together, Darcy and Natasha. 

“Now, my…informants at the department told me that Hawkeye and Clint killed two of the assailants but left the one alive. They’ve been interviewing him but he’s been pretty tight lipped.” Darcy tossed some of her thick curled hair back over her shoulder. 

Phil raised his eyebrows and glanced over at Natasha. “Pretty tight lipped?” 

Natasha’s gaze fell from Darcy to Phil, her eyes had softened but she still had that possessive glare. “I posed as a public defender and was allowed five minutes with him. He works for Hammer Industries, but that’s all he said before he passed out.” 

Coulson sighed and began rubbing his temples. “Romanov. This is going to cause some trouble.” 

Natasha rolled her eyes. “I didn’t leave any visible bruises and they can’t track this back to SHIELD.” 

Darcy slipped off the bed and into Natasha’s lap, kissing her cheek. “Nat doesn’t make mistakes.” 

Natasha’s eyes calmed and her attention turned to the curvy brunette in her lap. Of course, even if Clint was more interested in men, he thought his attention would definitely be on Darcy had she been sitting in his lap. 

Thor cleared his throat. “I’ve sent this information to Stark’s home security. They’re looking into it but Stark is enraged. He wants to go on the offensive.”   
Steve looked up sharply. “SHIELD is a personal protection agency, not a small army. I will not see my team become mercenaries.”

Phil held up a placating hand. “Settle down, Rogers. Mercenaries we are not.” He glanced at Clint. “Much as we’d like to be.” 

Clint stared up into those wise blue eyes and felt something in his belly shift. 

Steve looked between the two men and swallowed. “Speaking of, do we know why they went for Clint?” 

Darcy looked away from Natasha and turned to the group, their apparent silent discussion over. “It didn’t seem to be anything personal, Clint just caught onto them first.” 

Clint rubbed his stomach. “Feels personal.” 

Coulson’s hand fluttered, as if he wanted to place his hand on Clint’s shoulder but decided against it. 

Phil stood a little straighter and looked at his group. “Good work. I’ll speak with Fury and get further plans. Until then it’s business as usual, and we should leave Barton to his rest.” 

Clint frowned. Back to Barton, it seems. 

Natasha patted Clint on the knee, Darcy kissed him on the cheek, Thor hugged him which almost hurt as much as the bullet, and Steve just smiled that patriotic apple pie smile. 

“I’ll keep the Hawk happy, don’t worry. I’ll get her some exercise and Cap can babysit her. Feel better.” He tossed Clint a salute and walked out, giving Coulson a knowing look before disappearing into the hallway. 

Phil coughed and shifted from foot to foot. “Erm, well.” He stuttered and adjusted his tie. 

Clint really wanted to kiss him just then. 

“Coulson, I’m fine. You can go home.” 

Phil blinked at him confused, as if the thought of leaving had never occurred to him. “Oh…I…you’re all right then?” 

Clint chuckled. “Half the hospital has been in this room today, I’ll manage. Besides, they said I could go home soon anyway and you’ve got your legion to run.”

Phil smiled faintly and Clint could truly see him as some sort of Roman general, commanding his legion from astride a horse with his bronze armor glinting in the bright Italian sun. 

Clint had clearly had too much Morphine. 

Phil gathered himself and patted Clint on the head, his fingers lingering as they traced through his short blonde hair. “Feel better, Clint. I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

Clint admired the view as Phil walked out the door.


End file.
